


give me nothing more

by akacz



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8942971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akacz/pseuds/akacz
Summary: Widowmaker and Tracer accidentally end up in the same hotel room on the same date; unresolved sexual tension, if you can call it that, does not resolve; questions are left unanswered; feelings are complicated.Tracer makes a note to be more suspicious of French names in the future (she forgets this after a day and a half).





	

**Author's Note:**

> _Just because I'm in your bed_  
>  Doesn't mean I'm yours, mean I'm yours
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to @daxolotl and her gf for beta'ing for me <>

Lena perked up at the ping of her mobile.

 

Wicked, it had been a while since she got any notifications. Maybe she wouldn't have to spend tonight feeling sorry for herself being alone on a Friday after all.

 

Propping herself up on one elbow in hopes of having a reason to be woken up from just shy of conking out, she grabbed the phone and swiped over the screen. A bright red marker date for her attention and she thumbed it up.

 

She was glad nobody was around to see her using that particular app. It wasn't anything illegal or nothing, all right! She didn't want to be judged, is all. Not that. Overwatch tended to judge. It might take them a while to stop teasing her, though, if they ever found out and let her live it down in the first place.

 

See, it was hard getting into the dating scene when you had a reputation like hers, all right. As the face of Overwatch, she was simply Tracer, the public hero. As Lena Oxton, on the other hand, she was a depressed gal in her 20s, nursing a desperate need for human contact as a reminder that she had disappeared out of existence again. She wasn't quite silly enough to think that she had the time – ha – with everything else going on to build a proper relationship with anyone.

 

So she used an hook-up app, okay, shoot her.

 

Anyway, she'd been expecting the usual simple hello, but was quite all right with the fact this gal was jumping ahead to the hey, I'm rarin’ to meet up with somebody tonight if you are, and as it so happened Lena are. Were. Was?

 

Lena hurriedly tapped out an agreement to rendezvous before grammar caught up to her.

 

She was a bit curious what this girl was going to look like, since she didn't have a picture on her profile, but not like Lena could complain, for obvious reasons she didn't have one'a herself either.

 

A few quick messages were fired back and forth with Juliet – what a lovely name – to confirm the hotel and room. Currently she was from out of town looking for some company while she was on her lonesome. Lena would be happy to provide. Couple of minutes later, she was out the door.

 

– – –

 

The guest in 408 tossed her phone aside and waited.

 

It had been quite the unexpected coincidence, coming across somebody with the name so close to somebody she knew so well. And while looking for a one night fling of all things. But even that idiot couldn't be be that  _ much _ of an idiot, to give her some credit; Lena Oxton and Lea Cox could not possibly be the same person. Widowmaker perished the thought before it could evolve further.

 

It was nevertheless enough of a remarkable feature for her to select the faceless girl for that alone.

 

One loud knock, immediately followed by three quicker raps, announced the arrival of her company.

 

An eyebrow raised imperceptibly as she glanced at the door.

 

In a coordinated movement, she rose from the bed, and reached over to dim the lamp on the bedside table. The dark was a requirement for calling up girls like this; made them more likely to attribute the shadowy tone of her skin to a trick of the dark blue haze in the room.

 

Striding to the door, she bent slightly to peer out the deformed glass of the peephole, brow furrowing in irritation at the fishbowl picture presented of the plain white walls and carpeted walk. It was an insult to the exquisite view she received through the scope of her kiss. Her distaste for the warped view was nothing compared to the growing hint of horror that crawled out of her throat and over her tongue to coat the walls of her mouth when she fixed her eyes on the face of the person that stood in the middle of it all, however.

 

Tufts of messy brown hair. Tinted glasses. As if that actually did anything to obscure her face. A heavy jacket and obnoxiously bright leggings lead to a pair of trainered feet, bouncing and swaying on their heels.

 

How fascinating. Widowmaker was unaware her own spit could taste so sour. She was also abruptly aware that Lena Oxton could indeed be that stupid.

 

She watched through little glass hole as the fool leaned forward and knocked her knuckles against the door twice more. "Hello, love?" she called tentatively to the room.

 

Widowmaker slid over the latch and stepped back to graciously open the door for her visitor.

 

"Bon soir, _ love _ ."

 

– – –

 

Lena froze, then laughed at herself.

 

"So, eh, Juliet, right? Didn't know you spoke French there. Do you mind turning the lights up a bit, it's a bit dar—"

 

"I would mind," the other woman paused, "Lea."

 

Lena size widened. That was not any French accent. That was… "You're…" She tensed, adrenaline starting to boil up in her veins.

 

"Not so loud, cherie, close the door first. You do not want to disturb the peace, do you?"

 

Feeling a twitch in her temple, Lena spun and slammed the door shut, forcing locks into place quickly. Somewhere down the hall, she could hear someone hollering about damn kids needing to go to sleep.

 

"Sorry!" she hollered back, leaning against the door for second before turning back to Widowmaker.

 

"Where's Juliet? I was meeting somebody!"

 

Widowmaker chuckled softly.

 

"I know."

 

"Well then? What you do with some poor lass who didn't have anything to do with me or Overwatch or Talon or anything other than happening to ring me up on my night off!"

 

Lena's hands had pulled up into tight fists at her side as she demanded answers, but all she got from Widowmaker was a cool stare, one which she returned with as much heat from her own eyes as possible.

 

The silence stretched on. Widowmaker's shoulders dropped, ever so slightly.

 

"You are looking at her."

 

Lena glared at her unfaltering smirk. That smug mouth was so very punchable. It was hard not to stare at it and think about how much she wanted to —

 

"Pfft," she puffed some stray hair out of her face. "You're a lot of things that you ain't named Juliet, love. You think I'm gonna off myself like Romeo or something for ya?" She couldn't resist a bit of a cheeky grin.

 

"Non," Widowmaker replied coolly, stepping around her and walking back to the bed to sit down primly. One leg on top of the other, feet dangling over the side. Lena practically growled when Widowmaker winked at her. "I think you are an idiot named Lea Cox."

 

"Oi, what's wrong with my name!"

 

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to live in a world where you were smarter than a gorilla?"

 

"You leave Winston out of this! And I had to have a codename, didn't I, specifically to avoid this problem. People like you finding me, people recognizing me an' getting all weird."

 

"Is this what Overwatch considers a code? Dropping one, single letter?"

 

That lilting little laugh was more infuriating than an itch on the bottom of her foot when she was in the middle of a training exercise.

 

"Yeah, well, sorry for being an honest person an' having trouble lying about my life!"

 

With each sentence flung back and forth she'd been edging closer, leaning forward to make sure Widow saw exactly how determined she was not to let this go without a fight.

 

Widowmaker didn't look all that concerned.

 

She didn't really look anything, actually. Maybe bored. Lena grunted impatiently. She could fix that. She yanked down the zipper of her bomber jacket and started wrestling off her sleeves.

 

"My, so eager? Has it been so long since you were alone with anyone?"

 

"Gettin' it off," she answered through her teeth, "so I can take a proper swing at'cha." Tossing it to the ground, she swung, her fist — caught firmly in the palm of Widowmaker's hand.

 

To be fair, maybe don't tell her about punching her in the face.

 

Lena recalled. Yeah, yeah, she wouldn't undo the actual block, but at least she got her hand out of Widowmaker's hand.

 

She hopped backwards out of range, preparing to try again. "All right put your dukes up, let's settle this."

 

Lena was ready.

 

"I was hoping to do something different tonight," Widowmaker murmurred.

 

Lena was not ready.

 

"No you wasn't," she countered, keeping her eyes on Widowmaker. Don't let her out of your sight. Not even keep roll your eyes at her, no matter how much she deserves it. "There's no way this wasn't a trap."

 

"Pauvre cherie, if I wanted to kill someone I would have done so. Not invited them to my bedroom." The look Widowmaker was giving her was probably best defined as withering. "Not that this," she gestured an open hand to the hotel room, "is actually mine."

 

Lena lowered her fists after a few seconds, not quite trusting enough to put them down all the way.

 

"Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the change of heart, cherie," she said, getting a faint tickle out of the way Widowmaker's nose wrinkled at her intentional butchering. "Perfectly happy not to have a near-death experience if you're offering a truce."

 

Widowmaker didn't say anything.

 

No wonder Widowmaker had no friends. She was shit at conversation.

 

The whole assassin thing probably didn't help either.

 

Lena hoped she wasn't making a mistake, and put her hands down.

 

"So. What, you want have a chat over a cuppa tea? Thinking about defecting, here to turn yourself in?" Her voice trailed off with an optimistic high note. She was immediately brought back down by the sharp laughs of the woman sitting in front of her.

 

"No, Cherie."

 

Well, Lena gave up, and was about to say as much when Widowmaker threw her a bone.

 

"Was my message not clear enough about what I was looking for? I hate to think you came here with the wrong impression of me. I try to make sure my girls know what they're getting into."

 

It sounded so weird and possessive like that. It also sounded like she was talking about… what message? The ones over the app? Inviting her to...?

 

Lena blinked across the room, hissing at the sting of pain from the wardrobe colliding the back of her heel as the blue flash disappeared from her eyes. Her heart was beating faster than a hummingbird.

 

"You bloody serious?" She sputtered.

 

"I am not asking for a relationship," Widowmaker dismissed her, "if you are going to confuse this, you can leave."

 

God rest the Queen, she was serious.

 

"Tracer."

 

She'd spaced out longer than she thought, and stiffened to attention at her call sign and the uncharacteristic simplicity and softness Widowmaker said it with. "If you are done, get out or I will kill you. I will find someone else."

 

The words, the reality, churned through her mind slowly.

 

This really wasn't a set-up.

 

They had both been looking for… A faint blush warmed her cheeks… And now Widowmaker was asking her to get out of the way of the next girl. And Lena almost felt sorry for her.

 

Damn her and her heart of gold, caring about the spidery bitch. She just… Empathized, okay.

 

Being lonely. Wanting to remember what it feels like to be human instead of something more, or maybe something less. Something other.

 

"Can I stay?"

 

"That would be your first good idea since I let you in."

 

Y'know, she knew Angela and Zen had their theories on peace instead of war, but sometimes it was really tempting to go for the method of shoot first ask questions later. What if she promised not to shoot to kill? Only, like, singe a little bit. Just the end of her little finger.

 

Nobody appreciated how hard it was to be the good guy all the time.

 

"Soooo, gonna turn the light on then, if we’re done with the spooky shadows bull," she said, leaning over to do that, when Widowmaker grabbed her wrist. Wincing at the intensity of the grip, she glanced at her.

 

"No."

 

"Why not."

 

"Do you not already know what I look like?"

 

"I do," she said with as much patience as she could muster, "for some reason, I feel more comfortable with the light on around you. Maybe I'd actually like to see your face, if that's okay with yo —" her mouth ran on.

 

"It is not okay."

 

"See, I was doing that thing, where I was saying it, but I didn't mean it, and you were supposed be like oh, no, Lena, I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable —"

 

"Do I get to call you Lena now?" Widowmaker purred, sitting forward and releasing her wrist to curl her hand under her chin thoughtfully.

 

"I'm glad you're listening, I think but that wasn't the point, if we could stick to the point that would be wonderful —"

 

"I would love for you to be uncomfortable, by the way."

 

Fed up with Widowmaker's interruptions, Lena yanked the lamp chain, washing the room with bright yellow light, and twisted to jab a Very Important Finger in her face.

 

"Stop that!"

 

"Get out then," Widowmaker scoffed. "I will not give you another chance to do so on your own."

 

They glared back and forth in a momentary standoff.

 

– – –

 

She had expected Tracer to finally walk out of this. She supposed she should have expected that Tracer would do something unpredictable instead. In this case, flapping her hands at her side helplessly and then practically flinging herself backwards onto the bed next to her.

 

"Juliet, hmmm," the girl muttered.

 

It was not a question, so Widowmaker did not answer. She turned to study her, staring at tired red eyes underlined by shadows of fatigue.

 

Tracer met her stare.

 

"What you looking at?" she asked, with a failed attempt at a bit of cheek.

 

"An annoyance," she answered smoothly, gaze not moving from Lena's face as her mouth twitched in a successful tired smile.

 

"Aw, I'm touched! You remembered!"

 

The longer she stared, the more human Lena looked. Talon and Overwatch were cold war machines. Emotionless mindless. They processed commands and carried them out. The targets at the end of her scope were simply targets. It was, literally, nothing personal at that distance.

 

Yet here was this girl, body sagging with the weight of the world strapped to her chest, pressing her down into the mattress.

 

Shifting to face her, Widowmaker leaned over and stroked the back of her hand over a smooth, freckled cheek.

 

The fool sucked in a deep breath, releasing it with shaky slowness.

 

"Hi, love," she exhaled.

 

Widowmaker dragged the touch of her fingers under the girl's chin, bringing her palm to rest cupping the other cheek.

 

"We, ah, we done talking now?" Lena asked, eyes darting over Widowmaker's face as much as they could even if the rest of her body was kept in place.

 

"Oui," Widowmaker whispered.

 

– – –

 

Hoo. All right, then.

 

She continued to focus on calm breathing. It was helping. Some.

 

As long as she didn't remember that Widowmaker was touching her, in a way that didn't involve trying to choke the life out of her, and was being almost unnervingly tender about it.

 

She wasn't as cold as Lena had expected. Physically, she was clearly as dead inside as ever, but she heard rumors that they had slowed down Widow's heart to help with her sniping aim or something, and that that was also the reason behind the whole purple thing. But instead of being an ice cube, she was just… Not hot.

 

The hand that had been resting on her cheek moved, the phone brushing over the line of her jaw with agonizing slowness. Pulse panicking, she diverted attention from it.

 

"Sure you've done this before, love? Acting like you've never touched someone," Lena muttered, grinning weakly. Her expression faltered when she realized how intently Widow was fixated on her.

 

No response.

 

She was going to die here. She was definitely going to die here.

 

Thoughts fluttering wildly to match the fluttering of her heart in her chest, her blanked out brain didn't register Widowmaker had leaned in closer until she was already too close.

 

She wasn't prepared, she wasn't breathing, she trapped the air in her lungs, she had to hold it in, hold everything in, hold it together…

 

A breathless sigh of relief passed out of her when something flickered in Widowmaker's eyes and the woman leaned back.

 

There was getting too close with the enemy, and then there was whatever this was. And whatever this was, she wasn't sure she could do it.

 

"If you're gonna do me in, could you get it over with," she tried to joke, but even she heard the fear in it. The uncertainty of all this was its own slow murder. If Widowmaker had any compassion left in the black hole inside her, make this quick and dirty, stop dragging it out with this little game.

 

The anticipation would kill her if the assassination didn't.

 

She closed her eyes as the touch of the hand drifted lower, grazing down her neck and trailing off, and she felt the dip in the bed move as Widowmaker moved away entirely.

 

Lena didn't move. Lena didn't look. When death came for her, she never wanted to see it coming —

 

The ball of a foot pushed lightly against the side of her head.

 

"Ugh, what," she muttered, rolling out of reach and blinking confusedly at the offending appendage.

 

"I'm going to bed. You are in the way. Let yourself out."

 

Widowmaker had stretched out on the bed, arms folded beneath the pillows propped up around her head. Lena frowned at her back. Running a hand through her frazzled hair, she pulled herself up to sitting, then standing, glancing a final time at Widowmaker.

 

There was an unwelcome layer of guilt channeling through the adrenaline urging her to escape while she could.

 

"Right. Eh. G’night, love," Lena said softly, standing still for a moment before heading towards the door.

  
The lamp clicked off, leaving the only light the sliver from the hall as she slipped out of the room. Pulling the door closed behind her as quietly as possible, she heard, quiet but distinct, what she was going to pretend was a not remotely apologetic, "Bonsoir, cherie."


End file.
